Gone
by Fulgance
Summary: Sirius leaves Grimmauld Place. Sirius/Regulus interaction, Regulus POV, not slash. A little brotherly affection. Rather somber ending. Oneshot. 'We shared the same parents, the same house, the same heritage and the same future. But still he ignored me.'


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. The books belong to J.K. Rowling.**

"...you filthy muggle-loving blood traitor! When will you understand that what we do is for your own good? We only ever wanted you to be a _normal_, respectable pureblood _Black_, but you _insist_ on being selfishly ignorant of our wishes. It's as if you do it on _purpose_. Do you really want to be like your...friends?"

I can hear the desperate plea in our mother's voice as she yells at my brother, yells so loud I can hear her from my room on the fourth floor. She's trying to hide it by using biting words, but a sliver of tenderness seeps through and I know she's not really angry, just sad and disappointed. And I know, too, before Sirius answers, that that hurts him more than raw fury would. Because he feels bad. If she was mean, he could just shrug her off with that Gryffindor courage, but she isn't. She cares about him, and that's what hurts.

But I also know he won't let her gain any ground in any of their many rows. Most of them are ridiculous squabbles over things that don't even matter, things_ I _could do without our mother batting an eyelid, or even caring. Things like leaving the house to go for a walk without warning anybody first. Or like 'forgetting' to treat a house-elf like dirt, something I do all the time. He doesn't even like house-elves. He just gives them food and clothes and smiles to annoy our mum. Right now, I have absolutely no idea what they're fighting about.

"You've got it all wrong, Mum," Sirius says furiously, and I wince. Hasn't he the sense to know that it was a rhetorical question? "I _do _want to be normal. I want to live in a normal family, one who doesn't _care_ which house their son is sorted into so long as he's happy there, one who actually _loves_ their children freely and equally and isn't afraid to show it, one who isn't as stuck-up as you are! I _do_ want to be like my friends because my friends have loving families. My friends love their parents, and their parents love them."

Our mother says something I don't quite catch. I'm listening intently now, because this argument is different than the others. Sirius usually glares sullenly at his feet and lets Mum scream until she's said everything she wanted to say, then he storms upstairs and into either his or my bedroom for comfort (not that my green and silver bedroom, Slytherin colours, offers much comfort to him). But it seems like he's fighting back this time, and it's scaring me. Something's broken in him – the wall that was holding back his anger, apparently.

I open the door to my room and make my way down the stairs to the third, then the second floor. I can hear fine from here and don't dare to go any further.

"Well? Do you?"

Mum. I wish I could have heard what she just said, because those three words don't make much sense to me. My brother doesn't answer, and she repeats her question. I can shake the eerie feeling that she's repeating it for my benefit, even though she can't possibly know I'm listening. I'm certain Sirius does, though, because I've mocked him about their rows often enough and I've admitted I often listen to them. Not that I can help it, really, when they're shouting that loud.

"Sirius...Do you really believe we don't love you? Do you really believe _I _don't love you?"

My brother is silent for a second, and for a moment I think he's going to be smart and ignore the question, or side-step it like he does any offensive comments our respectable pureblood Slytherin cousins make, but then he says:

"I don't believe it, Mum. I _know _it. You don't hug me, you don't kiss me, you never tell me you love me. You never even say you care about my future, my happiness, my friends! All you want to know is if I'm really worthless or if there's hope for me yet. Oh, and you care about my grades, but not because it's important for my future career. You only care because if I get something under E it's unacceptable and shameful for an eldest son of the Black family!"

"So you think," our mother begins, and her voice is trembling with barely contained rage now, "you think that because I never kiss you, _you_, a _man_, or nearly one, I don't love you?"

I know Sirius is flushing now, I can see it as clearly as if I were in the same room as him. No, I can _feel _it. Call it whatever you like. To us, it's always been our special brothers' bond. Each of us knows how the other would react when pitted against whatever situation. We know each other, even though we both pretend otherwise.

"That's not what I meant!"

I can feel him struggling for words now. There's a silence which seems to last forever and I know our mum thinks she's won once again, but then:

"You want proof that you don't love me? That's easy! You _hit _me, you cowardly, spineless excuse for a mother!"

I can picture the blue-ish mark on his right cheek and know he's pointing to it right now. I know it hurts, too, because he told me. But he _did_ sort of deserve it. I mean, he'd called Mum something I'd never dare say to anyone, least of all _her_. Sometimes I think he has a death wish. And sometimes I think I wouldn't mind it if he died. I mean, our parents go easy on me. They love me, as much as a Black can love. I'm coddled and treated like a prince, but I'm yelled at just like Sirius if he puts Mum in a rage. So I'd be better off without Sirius, even if he _is_ my brother. And besides, I know he wished he didn't have me for a brother. I know it. He'd rather had that Potter boy...

"I beg your pardon?" she says icily. "What did you just call me?"

If there's one thing our mother hates, it's being called a coward. Actually, I think Sirius inherited that from her. It's sort of a Gryffindor trait, although I'd never tell her that. I close my eyes and try to send a telepathic message to my brother. _Take it back, take it back, take it back..._

"You heard me," Sirius replies, his voice deathly quiet - so quiet, in fact, that I have to strain to hear. I curse silently.

I don't want to listen anymore, so I head back up to my room and lie down on my bed, knowing that he will be up in minutes, seeking someone to yell at or complain to, or just some company other than a house-elf or a furious parent. I am not mistaken, because exactly one hundred and fifty-three seconds later, I hear steps, loud, stomping footsteps, doubtless my brother's, storming up the stairs. My ears allow me to deduce that he is stopping in front of the door to his room, and I pray that he will go to me, even though I don't know why I care. I know for a fact that his trunk hasn't been unpacked since we came back from Hogwarts. He's even added things to it so that it's now full of anything that might be useful. Basically, this means his room is practically empty except for his bed and dozens of posters. He's been speaking of going to the Potters'...his best friend's home. They're purebloods, but our parents hate them. They're blood-traitors. And I'm not just saying that because I don't like them or anything (although I have to admit I don't. Like them, I mean). They _are_.

The door is blasted open, nearly unhinged, and Sirius is there in the doorway, looking angry, dischevelled, and determined. I wonder at his expression, then understand it and I'm not sure what I'm feeling. It isn't sadness. It might be relief, or perhaps regret. I can't tell, and I don't know if I ever will find out.

"I'm going," my brother says, his eyes trained on me as I stand up and head for him, stopping a few steps away from him.

"I know."

Without a word, we walk to his room, where he retrieves his trunk and broomstick. He looks expectantly at me, obviously waiting for something. I don't really know what, so I say:

"What?"

And his eyes bore into me, and I see him hesitating, something he has never done since he was sorted into Gryffindor, that damned house of traitors. Now you think I'm being prejudiced again, but you'd understand if I told you why I hate Gryffindors. You see, when my brother was sorted into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, when he told me about it in a letter, I didn't really care. My mother cried a lot but Dad managed to comfort her by saying that being brave wasn't a bad thing, and that it didn't mean he wasn't cunning, just that he had other attributes as well. And I wrote to Sirius asking him if it was okay. He just said he was having fun and never answered my following letters. I wondered why.

When I arrived at Hogwarts, I discovered the reason he never replied to my owls. He was too busy making a fool of himself, trying to be popular, hanging out with his friends...His _friends_. At first, I envied him for having friends. I was in Slytherin, and I didn't trust anyone enough to be their friend. Then the envy turned to a fiery hatred when I realised he was ignoring me like he ignored anyone who wasn't part of his group of friends. I didn't hate him, no. That would come later. But I hated the ones he was closest to. Because it should have been me, there. It should have been me. But when I went into Slytherin, he was disappointed. And I became a Slytherin first-year like any other, and he was a big bold Gryffindor in his third year, and even though he never pranked me, he never acknowledged me in any way. Lupin and Pettigrew used to say the pair were brothers in everything but blood, and that filled me with pride because _I _was his true brother. We shared the same parents, the same house, the same heritage and the same future. But still he ignored me. I followed him around in the hope that it might change, but a couple months ago I heard James Potter and him call themselves blood brothers, and my heart shattered into pieces, and I believe I cried that day. And then was born an uncontrollable hatred towards my brother, a traitor in so many ways.

"Regulus?" Sirius asks, drawing me from my reverie. "Regulus?"

"What?" I say harshly, and he closes his eyes.

"You're not coming, then," he says softly.

I laugh. It's a bitter laugh. I certainly feel bitter. And a little incredulous.

"Coming?" I repeat mockingly. "Coming? My dear brother, you can't have been expecting me to come with you, can you? I don't really fancy spending time in the streets when I could be sleeping in a cozy room."

"I'm not going to be out on the streets," Sirius says disparagingly. "I'll be at James'."

It feels like he's just punched me. Punched me where it hurts most. My only weak point when it comes to Sirius is James Potter. And I have a feeling he knows it. I'm angry now, very angry.

"Well, be my guest," I say. Actually, I have a feeling I'm yelling, but I'm not sure. "Go to Potter's, why don't you? Go find your little friend. He can have you, for all I care. You so obviously belong to the same family of blood-traitors. You aren't my brother. You _aren't_!" I'm certain I screamed that last part, and Sirius has (obviously) noticed it too.

"So that's it," he whispers. "That's it, isn't it? The only reason you've been so strange lately is because you're _jealous_!"

"Jealous?" I repeat, my voice shrill. "Jealous? Of what? Of two blood traitors? Or should I say, _blood brothers_?"

And, in a flash, Sirius understands.

"Oh." His voice is tiny, almost inaudible.

"Oh indeed."

I'm waiting for something. An explanation, a desperate plea for forgiveness. Anything.

"I...I didn't realise...Why were you listening? Were you spying on us?"

The arrogance. Sirius has managed to turn what should have been an apology into an accusation. The nerve of him.

"I was following my big brother," I say sourly, "because I was blinded by my adoration for him, my pride of having such a popular, clever brother."

"Oh."

"Oh again," I mock. "My, how wonderful your grasp of our language is, brother dearest."

"Stop doing that!" he says angrily. "Stop acting like I'm an idiot! I...I...Look, I never replaced you, alright? James is my best friend, and yes, I call him my blood brother. But you, Regulus...You've always been my little brother. I love you. You're _family_."

"Mum's family," I point out. "Do you love her, too?"

"Of course I do!" He looks shocked. As though the thought of him not loving her was preposterous.

"Sure you do," I mutter. Then: "Shouldn't you be going?"

Sirius looks out the window.

"Yeah. I should."

But he doesn't move. He's staring at me, and I'm staring at him. Then, all of a sudden, he reaches out, pulling me into a rough, brotherly hug. I struggle, try to pull away, but he's both taller and stronger than me, so I give in to it, knowing it is probably the last time I will ever hug my brother, because tomorrow, he'll be hugging Potter, not me. Which I guess is why I wrap my arms around him and hug him back. And I don't know why, but I whisper something unexpected, but so true, so very true.

"I love you," I tell his shoulder, and the shoulder stiffens and I know _he _heard.

"So do I," he says quielty. "And I always will. Remember that, will you?"

I am solemn when I answer.

"I promise."

"Don't forget me, alright?" he says lightly, but I know he's serious. Very serious.

"Never. Good-bye...for now."

"Good-bye, Regulus."

And with that, my brother is gone. He's kicked off from the ground and it's when I watch him fly away until he's nothing but an insignificant speck in the sky that I realise I've lost him. I lost him years ago, when he was sorted into Gryffindor.

Blacks aren't meant to be in Gryffindor.

Sirius is lost and gone forever.

Starting from now, I don't have a brother.

To empathize my point, I sneak down to the drawing room on the first floor. Mum's in her bedroom, probably trying to relax after the row. I look at the tapestry depicting the House of Black and all its members. Here and there, spots of black where Mum blasted off some dishonourable witches and wizards. And, right at the bottom, two names. Two faces. Sirius Orion Black and Regulus Arcturus Black. I draw my hand from my sleeve and point it, hand trembling uncontrollably, at the tapestry. I flick it once and am blasted backward, slammed against the opposite wall. I haven't done this very often, but lately my mother has been showing me how to root out the unworthy. And Sirius is definitely an unworthy. When I stand up straight again and look at the tapestry, I am pleased to see the only name at the bottom of the family tree is mine. Regulus Arcturus Black, only son of Walburga and Orion Black, respectable pure-blooded Slytherin.

Sirius Orion Black is lost and gone forever.

**Kind of contradictory, don't you think? That's because it was meant to be a show of brotherly affection. But then I sort of digressed while I was exploring the relationship between Sirius and Regulus. I mean, it was rather obvious Sirius didn't like him ('Stupid idiot...He joined the Death Eaters' 'My idiot brother, soft enough to believe them [parents]') but they might have loved each other when they were younger...And that was what I was aiming for, but it ended up like this. I like it, but it isn't really what I was expecting.**


End file.
